In the Beginning
by lychee loving
Summary: Once upon a time, the Xavier Institute was a lonely mansion housing only a few grown mutants living within its quiet walls... Set early preseries. Chapter 14: Logan scowled as realization steadily dawned on him. "... You're wining and dining me."
1. choosing sides

_Set early pre-series._

* * *

><p>It'd been a hell of a night. He may not have all his memories intact for comparison, but he's pretty sure he's never had to deal with astral projections speaking to him in his head, or bucketheaded war-freaks descending ominously from the sky. Or women with mile-long legs floating down on an off-season breeze...<p>

He'd been on the run from some feds who somehow caught and sedated him after his claws aroused suspicion during his last cage match. How and why they brought him across the border and clear across the US was beyond him; all he knew was government feds were bad news, no matter what the country.

He'd just lost them when a vision in a purple turtleneck and faded grey jeans came floating down to him on a breeze so fresh, it had no business in the backstreets of New York. The claws came out in an instant, but she didn't seem alarmed. In fact, she'd been the one to ask him not to be afraid when she offered help, her lightly accented voice a smooth and calming alto.

What happened next was a bit of a blur. A voice in his head was speaking about evolution and genetics and mutations, when a man in a metal helmet and yet another leggy beauty with a dangerous smile and gleaming blue skin appeared as well, both talking about a coming war...

In the end, he'd been offered two options. Join one and fight on the "right" side of this war, or join the other and help keep the peace.

_- it doesn't have to be a case of us versus them._

Even without the strange astral projection's voice in his head, it wasn't much of a decision. He may not remember much, but even from the little he could recall? War was ugly, and somehow he knew that he'd seen enough of it to last several lifetimes.

Once the freak in the bucket had flown off in disgust, the oddly comforting voice in his head began explaining things in more detail. He was a mutant, the next step in evolution. More importantly, he wasn't alone. And despite the words thrown around in the altercation in the alley, he was being given another chance to make a choice. Charles Xavier wasn't about to force him into joining his cause. He was, however, prepared to offer him a place to stay for the night - a safe place, no strings attached, until he could decide for himself what he would do, where he would go.

Logan couldn't remember the last time he'd been offered that. Not even Fury was so generous.

The lady with beautiful white hair was looking at him expectantly.

"Charles Xavier is a good man, Mr. Logan," she began, her startlingly blue eyes warm and sincere in the light of a flickering street lamp. "I know it's quite a lot to take in, and I am not asking you to put your trust in him right at this moment... All I ask is that you give him a chance, and listen to what he has to say."

With that, she'd offered a hand for him to take. Had anyone else ever done that for him? Not in recent memory - not that he had very many memories, to begin with.

He grasps her hand; both his eyebrows go up at how firm her grip is. She smiles at his surprise, and her blue, blue eyes seem to gleam with the promise of tomorrow.


	2. tempest in a teapot

It was eight hours now since his back-alley encounter with the beautiful white-haired woman and the strange, calming voice in his head that claimed to want to help him. Six hours since he'd first stepped foot into this small but elegant one-story townhouse along Fifth and Main. Five, since he'd taken the first hot shower he'd had in months, and promptly passed out onto the clean sheets of a soft bed. Talk would have to wait; his healing factor could fix up everything from scrapes to broken bones, but it couldn't heal exhaustion.

Early dawn light streaming through clear, glass windowpanes woke him up with a start. A quick glance around the small guestroom told him no, he wasn't being chased, or on a mission (favor) for Fury or in some rundown cheap motel. Weird.

There was a change of clothes thoughtfully folded on the chair by window. He pulled the white tank on - running around shirtless around urban New York got old really quickly - but quickly shucked on his own jeans, contemplating the situation he'd found himself in.

He wasn't normally one to trust so easily, but there was something about the bald man in the wheelchair that didn't have his hackles rising. At least enough to take him up on his offer to explain things in further detail. He was, after all, the first person to claim to have some sort of explanation for the blades that rested between his knuckles. _Mutant_, he'd said, with no amount of suspicion or malice, but instead with a measure of understanding and kindness. Logan's head was telling him he was making a rookie mistake, shacking up with people he barely knew, but gut instinct was telling him to hear them out, listen to what they had to say. And, in his (short) experience, instinct was always right.

Dressed now, he made for the door. He'd barely taken a step out the room when the wheel-chair bound man he recongized from last night turned from the nearest corner. He smelled like old books and aftershave.

"Good morning, Logan." He said, smiling. "I was just on my way to see if you would join us for breakfast."

The rumble of his stomach answered that question for him, and he shrugged. "S'long as the food comes with some answers, sure."

Xavier gave him an answering smile and maneuvered his chair around to face the way he came. "Of course. This way, then, if you please."

"You'll have to excuse the crampedness," the bald man was saying smilingly. Except it wasn't cramped at all, with hallways wide enough to allow the berth of his chair to make smooth U-turns with relative ease. "This house rarely sees activity outside of myself and a bi-weekly housekeeper. It's only in use for when I have a string of lectures to give at the universities in the area."

Oh, so he was _that_ kind of professor. Explained the funny smell of books and old leather that clung to him. Charles gave him an amused sort of grin.

"And the lady, the flying one - 'Roro, or something? - What's her deal?"

"Miss Ororo Munroe," he clarified with a smile. "a graduate student that I met by chance at her university. A fine young woman, if I ever met one. She was using her own mutant powers to save a student trapped in the flaming wreckage of a car when I first met her..."

"Yeah?" He wondered what she could do; apparently there was more to her than flying and looking damn fine.

Charles arched an eyebrow at him. "There is indeed much more to her than that. Miss Munroe can manipulate the weather at will."

Logan blinked, the statement so absurd that he barely registered that Xavier was answering his questions as he thought them. "She can control the weather?"

"Indeed." The telepath's smile was as subdued as ever, but the light in his eyes was excited. "And it seems that her control is so great, she can quite literally create a tempest in a teapot."

A soft, throaty chuckle came from inside of the next doorway. His nose told him it was a kitchen, if the fresh scent of eggs and bacon was any indication. Two purposeful steps brought him within view of the small kitchenette, where Flying Lady was setting a table for three.

"You flatter me, Professor." She remarked, bowing her head modestly.

"But it's true," Xavier had turned to Logan then, leaning forward on his elbows, hands clasped together before him. "You've seen her floating on winds of her own making. It would be a fair assumption to say she could conjure them on a smaller scale."

Ororo gave him a faintly amused smile before she turned to address Logan. "You will have to excuse Professor Xavier. I've only just met him myself, but already I've noticed how excited he gets over the prospect of learning about new powers..."

"Yeah, it isn't obvious or nothin'," He would've rolled his eyes, but he found he couldn't look away from hers. Her eyes were a beautiful ocean blue.

She arched an eyebrow at him curiously. "... Yes?"

Had he been staring stupidly at her? "... Was just wonderin' if you could." He said, gruffly tearing his eyes away and looking somewhere, anywhere else. "Uh, do that tempest in a teacup shit."

Her brow rose ever higher. "Is that a challenge?"

"I dunno, darlin'." He swung his eyes back to her and raised an eyebrow right back. "S'only a challenge if you can't do it."

She paused and gave him a long look; she was tall, taller than him and the Prof on his chair, so it gave an effect of her looking down on them both, like a queen surveying her subjects from a high pedestal. Were he a lesser man, he would have fidgeted in his place.

But then she turned to the nearest cup - she had filled it with coffee only moments prior - and gestured with one hand, thumb and first two fingers up. With a slight tilt to her wrist, the air before her began to swirl into a tiny cyclone, about five inches in height. Her dark lips parted and she blew a gentle gust to help it move along towards the cup where it made a neat water landing. In seconds, she had a miniature water spout forming within the confines of the delicate piece of china, not even a single drop of coffee landing on the table.

Beside him, Charles brought his hands together in a slow clap, smiling appreciatively. Logan glanced once at him, then at the woman who was calming the tiny tempest down with a graceful wave of her hands. It was only then he noticed the eerie, electric white glow of her formerly blue eyes. Damn.

"Amazing," Charles said, beaming. "Was that not amazing, Logan? The level of control over that kind of ability, truly astounding."

"Yeah," He echoed faintly, blinking in awe. "Great stuff."

Ororo smiled blushingly. "Thank you," she remarked. "Though I must note, it took many years before I could even achieve that kind of control. If anyone is deserving of praise, it would be those who have helped me harness this power."

At this, Charles clasped his hands back together. His smile was sincere, eyes bright.

"Yes, which is exactly what I mean to discuss with the two of you, today..."

* * *

><p><strong>Notes<strong>:  
><em>Charles' tiny townhouse is completely made up. For some reason, I don't like the idea of him living all alone in a large ancestral mansion, all day everyday until he would find the first of his X-Men. But don't worry, everyone's favorite mansion will show up soon!<em>


	3. breakfast at xavier's

The clock in the kitchen read five-to-seven, Ororo noted as she pushed a stray lock of damp hair behind an ear. She finished early, today. Her daily morning jogs had yet to fall into a consistent routine as she was still determining a good route to follow around the mansion's grounds. Running on uneven terrain was something she needed to reacquaint herself with, she mused as she leaned on the doorjamb to rub the soles of her feet. Charles had vague plans of adding a levelled track in the massive backyard, but like most everything in the opulent mansion, it was a work in progress. Still, running made for good endurance training, and it was something practically anyone could do… Perhaps they could move it up on their list of things to do.

"Mornin', 'Ro." Logan ambled in, morning paper in hand. He dropped it onto the table where he knew the Professor would find it.

"Good morning to you too, Logan." She smiled broadly, pleasantly surprised at his presence. It wasn't often that he was around the kitchen, at this time. She learned early on that the mysterious Logan was not exactly the most personable of people. He kept to himself, and Ororo gave him space.

"Charles should be down in a few moments. Would you like to join us for breakfast?" She moved around the island counter, taking a loaf of bread and a bag of bagels down from the pantry.

He paused, and Ororo saw him glance towards the garage door.

"Unless you're busy, of course," she amended as she took an apron from a rack.

Obviously he noted the tone of challenge in her voice. He raised one eyebrow at her and shrugged. "S'long as you don' make me wear one'a those sissy aprons, darlin', sure."

Soon, the fresh scent of Arabica coffee filtered through the kitchen, and Ororo had some eggs poaching in a pot of water over the stove. "Charles likes his eggs poached," she said conversationally. "I prefer mine sunny side up. You?"

When he didn't answer, she turned from the stove and found him busily going through the fridge's contents.

"Whatever are you looking for, Logan?"

"Meat. Tell me we have actual meat in here."

She smiled. "I believe we have some bacon in the freezer. Pass them over to me, I will toss them into the pan with our eggs." She broke one into the Teflon. "You didn't answer me, Logan. How do you take yours?"

His voice was muffled. "Scrambled… aha." He emerged from within the fridge holding a packet of bacon. "I like 'em scrambled, hard." he repeated, grinning. The slight inflection on his last word did not go unmissed by Ororo, but she hid away her own smile. Now was not the time.

He set the packet down on the counter to thaw. Ororo tsk'ed and waved the hand that wasn't minding her frying pan over its general direction. A pocket of warm air formed around the bacon, and the ice started to melt in seconds.

"Show-off."

She grinned.

That was the scene that greeted Charles as he entered the kitchen. He paused just inside the doorway, watching as toast popped out of the toaster. Logan caught them easily, in a waiting plate without even sparing it a glance, his eyes making sure he didn't spill the eggs he was expertly whisking with a fork, one-handed, in a small bowl. Meanwhile, Ororo was sliding a sunny side up into a plate and promptly laying out several strips of bacon to sizzle in its place. They greeted him in tandem, without looking up from what they were doing.

"Mornin', Chuck."

"Good morning, Charles."

Charles would have been slightly offended, if the scene weren't so amusing, quaint and borderline domestic.

He smiled openly. "Good morning, Ororo. Logan. Breakfast smells wonderful." He wheeled himself to his place at the kitchen table, skillfully maneuvering around the two. Logan had passed off his bowl of egg to Ororo, who poured it into the pan that his bacon had just vacated. She instinctively moved aside so her partner could reach where the coffee had finished brewing. He took the carafe as well as three cups and moved to join Charles at the table.

"Cream or sugar, darlin'?"

Charles couldn't help it, he laughed quietly. Logan and Ororo finally paused and turned to him as one, quirking one eyebrow each.

"What's so funny, Chuck?"

"Nothing." His eyes twinkled. "I suppose I shouldn't be surprised that you two seem to work just as well in the kitchen as you do on the field."


	4. better than Bond

Logan whistled. "_Nice_ plane, Chuck."

The sleek, black jet gleamed under the harsh florescent lights of the hangar that the Professor had brought both Storm and Wolverine to visit. He chuckled at the expressions the two wore when they paused to admire it from the hangar entrance.

"... Magneto's exploits have been getting more and more ambitious as of late," he said, as he followed his two companions at a more sedate pace as they started to approach the plane. "I felt that we may need certain resources if we want to keep up with him."

"So you step up the game and got us an honest-to-god SR-77." Logan smirked and shook his head. Must be nice to be able to afford military planes at the drop of a penny...

"And who will be piloting the jet, Charles? If you do not mind my asking." Ororo asked in awe; it was her first time to see such a thing.

The Professor cleared his throat. "I may not look like it, but-"

"Woah, woah woah." Logan turned and stared. "You know how to pilot one of these planes, Chuck?"

He smiled. "As it happens, I do. We flew a few of these in Vietnam..."

Both gave him equally surprised looks. "... Although I suppose this Blackbird here is in a class of its own, when compared to the earlier model..."

"It's amazing, Charles. But wherever are we going to keep this?" God bless her little heart, but sometimes 'Ro sounded just like a mother.

"I've already spoken to our engineers and contacted the contruction company about a hangar for the Institute, my dear Ororo."

Understanding flashed in her eyes. "Then I am to guess that the construction in your mansion is more than just simply expanding the basement?"

"An underground hangar, eh, Chuck?" Logan was clearly impressed. _Damn_. "Damn."

"Yes; there will be an exit for take-offs that opens in the waterfall behind the grounds. I am thinking of installing another on the lawn, as well."

"Shit, Chuck. James Bond's got nothing on us!" (Ororo swatted his arm. "Logan, language!")

Charles chuckled. "I'm hoping to relocate the latest Cerebro prototype into the sublevels some time in the future. There are also blueprints for an infirmary in the works."

Ororo nodded. With Magneto's recent burst of activity, they would definitely be needing the latter.

"In any case, I am thinking of enrolling the both of you in aviation classes. What do you think? It would be best if you two are licensed pilots, I feel."

"Nah, Chuck." Wolverine smirked. "May not remember everything, but I do know for a fact I can pilot this baby," He had S.H.I.E.L.D. to thank for that knowledge. "As for why I can, though, I ain't rightly sure."

The Professor nodded. "I expected as much, but I hadn't been certain." He turned to Ororo, who had taken a few steps forward to have a closer look at the plane. "And you, my dear? How do you feel about learning how to fly a jet?"

Logan watched her lift off from the ground in a smooth arc. "You really gotta ask that, Charles? Can't imagine it'll hold a candle to literally flying, bub."

Charles chuckled. "Of course. Even still..."

Ororo had floated up to the nose of the jet and laid one careful hand on the gleaming metal. "I can't say I've ever in my wildest dreams thought I would learn how to fly a plane, Charles." She turned to face them both on the ground. "But it would be a helpful skill to learn, I admit."

Charles clasped his hands together, smiling brightly. "I'm glad to hear that. I shall sign you up for lessons as soon as possible, then."

"Can Logan not teach me?" She tilted her head his way curiously.

Logan blinked. "... M'not much of a teacher, 'Ro."

She chose that moment to start her descent towards them. "Lessons cost money. Why spend when we have two experienced pilots right here?"

Charles glanced between them thoughtfully. "You know that money is not an issue, Ororo. But you make a fair point, I admit."

She had her head bowed slightly as her feet touched the ground. "And although I hate to mention it, I'm not certain I would be comfortable with anyone else..." She'd made mention of her struggle with small, enclosed spaces to them before. He felt like there was more to it than what little she told them; looks like he was right. A Blackbird's cockpit was far from tiny, but it was probably the thought of prolonged periods of time in flight with recycled air and not much room to move with a stranger... Logan shook his head at himself, how did that slip his mind?

"Right, that settles it." He grinned. "Like I said, not much of a teacher but between the two of us we'll make it work somehow, 'Ro."

His carefully calculated inflections on certain words made her cheeks color the slightest bit, to his delight. And just because he wanted to see if he could do it again -

"Not that I'm complainin'; can't say I'm opposed to having private lessons with you, darlin'."

She playfully rolled her eyes at him before speaking to Charles again about how the dynamics of this would now work. He tuned them out; he was just happy to note that she hadn't denied it.

* * *

><p><em>Haven't you ever wondered the how and why behind the mansion's elaborate structure and architecture? Seriously, what did Charles Xavier have to do to convince various engineers and construction companies to build him an underground hangar complete with secret hidden waterfall entranceexit..._

_Also, __I realized I Didn't Do The Research after I wrote this, oops.__ I have no idea how acquiring a license for flying a plane would work. Do you need special classes from a licensed teacher? Can you show up at flight school already knowing how and just take a test to qualify for a license? I have no idea. Let's say the Prof pulled some (mental) strings and got them licenses in a jiffy or something. _

_And please don't lynch me if I got my facts wrong for what I did end up doing research for; SR-71's were indeed used in recon missions over North Vietnam in the late sixties to early seventies. I know comics!Xavier was drafted into the Korean War, but Evo is set in the early 2000's. I thought it'd make a bit more sense if he was born a little later, and drafted into the Vietnam War instead. __And, credit where credit is due: I got the idea from IronRaven's own "In the Beginning" fic about the Professor, which you should all read immediately, because he actually knows what he's talking about!_


	5. it had to be you

It was after one of his days-long motorcycle rides that he caught her just as she was sitting before the beautiful black grand piano. He stopped literally mid-step as he passed by the entrance of the rec room, and she raised one perfect eyebrow at the picture he made. Just like that, he could tell that she was trying her damnedest not to grin at his expense.

"Will you be standing there all day, Wolverine, or will you be coming in to join me?"

He tried to glare at her, but all he could manage was a halfhearted scowl. "Well, since ya asked so nicely..."

He stepped inside, glad he'd wiped his boots at the door for once. The flooring of the rec room was shiny and well-polished. Seeing her sit down to the grand piano by the large bay window with the light of the setting sun behind her - it looked almost like something out of a painting.

"So, you gonna give us a show, darlin'?"

She ran her hands delicately and almost reverently along the ivory keys. "Mm... Charles has already wrangled me into promising you and he one, actually. I'm afraid I'm slightly out of practice, however."

"S'that so?" She looked like the sort who'd be good at that kinda thing without even trying. He walked over to sit on a worn, leather armchair not five feet from where she sat, making himself comfortable and putting his feet up on the matching ottoman. "Best way to fix that is to get back into practice, eh?"

She slanted her gaze to him. "That was the idea, yes. Of course, I hadn't counted on you getting to hear me already... This was supposed to be a private rehearsal."

"Shame that I ain't planning on goin' anywhere just yet, then." He grinned when a bit of color rose to her cheeks. Who knew it'd be so fun to get a rise out of the normally calm weather witch? "Come on then, let's hear it."

She shook her head, resigned, before clearing her throat awkwardly. She refused to wonder what it was about this gruff, burly man that flustered her so easily, when it normally took a lot to do that.

The first notes of a simple, hopeful melody wash over him like rain as he leaned back into his chair, shutting his eyes. He'd been right - she sounded pretty good for someone claiming to be rusty at it. Not that he'd know anything about music like that. He's more of a big band kinda guy himself, and he tells her as much once the last notes of the classical piece fades away. And she just smiled - like she'd won a bet with herself or something, before smoothly settling into the beginning of another song. It's one, he realizes with some surprise, that he recognized. A slower version, but the melody is unmistakable. He nearly caught himself murmuring the lyrics.

_for nobody else gave me a thrill  
>for all your faults, I love you still<br>it had to be you,  
>wonderful you,<br>it had to be you._

When the song came to a close, he spoke up, mildly shocked at how his voice was nothing but a soft, gruff whisper.

"Where'd ya learn to play like that, darlin'?"

His eyes were still peacefully shut, but he doesn't miss her quiet chuckle. He doesn't need to open his eyes, either, to hear the smile in her voice.

"My sister's mother-in-law had a piano. We stayed with them a few years, when we first moved back to America..."

She began another song, this one much softer than the first two: a lullaby.

"For a while, they seemed a little frightened of me... This foreign teenager with strange hair and eyes... speaking to everyone as if they were all beneath her." She shook her head.

"And then one day, she caught me touching the keys of the piano. I was just curious. I have dim memories of my father playing for my mother, you see. It was so long ago..."

"But Vi's mother-in-law was a music teacher. When she figured out that I wanted to learn... Well, we got along quite well, after that. I think she was just overjoyed that she had a willing student right in her own home. Vi was ecstatic; apparently father attempted to teach her long ago, but she had absolutely no patience for it, she told me. She was glad that our father's talent somehow survived through me..."

Her lullaby came to an end. When she glanced back at Logan, he was already sitting up, eyes on her and listening attentively.

She managed a little smile that crinkled her blue eyes. She held out one finger, while she twisted on the piano bench so she could pull out a wallet from her back pocket. A picture was taken carefully from where it was tucked neatly into its photosleeve, and she motioned him closer.

There was a young teenager with white hair in two braids and laughing, blue eyes sitting at a modest, upright piano. On her lap was a little boy with bleach blond hair, not two years of age by the looks of it. He had his tiny hands lying over hers on the shiny white keys, looking for all the world like he'd just discovered the world's secrets in what they were doing.

"My nephew, Evan." She smiled fondly. "I was 'teaching' him, so to speak. Chopsticks was a delight to play; the first song I could play, of course, and the only piece he can play today..."

~_x_~

She doesn't play often. If you need to find 'Ro, she's more likely to be outside than indoors, up to her elbows in dirt while she tends to garden. Or learning how to pilot the Blackbird. Or helping Chuck choose gender-friendly color schemes for the bedrooms on the second floor. Him, he's busy with Charles' pet project Danger Room, beefing up the security system and scouting out the outskirts of Bayville for a bar that actually serves up halfway-decent beer.

When she does play, however, it's always late at night. He knows Chuck goes down there to listen, sometimes. Sometimes he even joins them, staking a claim on the leather chair he sat on that first night. Usually, she plays for an empty room, filling the for-now empty halls of the mansion with the soothing sound of Chopin or Sinatra, or whatever nameless tunes she comes up with in spontaneaity.

He finds himself looking forward to those nights as he lies in bed, sharp hearing catching the lilting tunes from his room on the second level. Part of him wants badly to ask why, on those nights that she plays for no one but herself, she plays such goddamned _sad_ songs. A smaller part decides not to, for fear that she'd stop.

They're some of the only nights that he manages to get any sleep at all.

* * *

><p><em>inb4 gross, lychee loving, what are you doing writing songfic! (it's not songfic. not really!) <em>

_In the episode "Spykecam", we see that Ororo can play the piano. I kind of WTF'd at that, then made myself come up with an explanation of why she'd be able to, considering her history... This was the result! _

_Also, first person to tell me the movie that featured the song Storm played gets a free cookie. Or ficlet request, I guess. _


	6. interlude:  wanderlust

He leaves a lot. Sometimes he is gone for days at a time. He always phones, though, when he figures he won't be back by dinner. Even if he can never give an estimated time of return, he can at least promise he would be back.

"Where do you go?" She wonders aloud, once. It's late at night, and they're both sitting at the kitchen table when they should be at least trying to get some sleep. A beer is halfway to his lips when he turns to look at her, wondering where the question came from.

"Where do I go?" He hates himself as soon as the words leave his lips; he hates it when people repeat questions stupidly like that.

"Mm-hmm. When you go off on that infernal bike of yours." She is smiling a little now, though she still hasn't met his eyes.

He turns his own eyes to the window, to the sky that she's gazing so intently up at. He doesn't answer right away, because he doesn't have an answer for her.

"Hnnh. Nowhere, really." He isn't sure how to explain himself, wishes he could explain the restless need to get out for a bit, to escape.

But she just nods.

"I do not like being caged either."

He turns back to her, surprised, but she's still looking up at the clouds.


	7. tea and beer

He was lying awake in bed when he first heard it: the softest of cries, piercing through the night. Logan sat up abruptly, what was tha-...

_Logan, it's Ororo_.

He stifled the urge to swear out loud. This sudden voices in his head business was taking some getting used to.

Regardless, he was already getting out of bed and halfway to the door when he acknowledged the mental call. _Yeah? What was your first clue, Chuck?_ She was only the sole female resident of the mansion. Of course it was Ororo.

He could practically see Charles shaking his head (or was that an astral projection?) _Her nightmares are particularly fierce, this evening_.

That made him pause. _Nightmares?_ Ororo had bad dreams?

_Yes, our friend does have nightmares too, Logan. She hasn't come to me about it, and she seemed to have things under control, but..._

_Never been this bad before, huh?_

_No_.

Silence descended between them, until the soft, agitated cries of someone struggling to wake from sleep started up once again.

_If you would, Logan..._

He grumbled; he was already going to wake her before Chuck went and interrupted him.

_Tread carefully,_ Charles advised. _I would calm her myself, but her mind is in turmoil... She won't let me in. If you need me present, I will be there soon as I am able._ Getting from his bed and into his wheelchair may have been made easy with years of practice but it remained a time-consuming process, still.

_You're not coming_? What? He had no idea how to deal with emotionally distraught women. Didn't know the first thing about it.

_I do not wish to crowd her. Don't worry, Logan, you will manage_. The benevolent smile in his voice made Logan seriously want to gut something. In fact, he nearly did in the fern standing outside her door.

_... I wouldn't, Logan. Ororo does not take to plant cruelty very kindly._

Damn.

_~x~_

It started as it always did; in the dark.

She would try to stretch out her arms before her somehow, but always found that she could barely move. It wasn't that she was tied down, but she may as well have been, with an unseen weight steadily pressing down on her on all sides. Stilling her breath, stealing the very air from her lungs with every panicked gasp and pant.

And then, the voices. Whispers, starting faint and all around her, until one rose above the rest -

_It will be all right, Ororo,_

Her mother's voice! Meant to be reassuring, she knew, but -

_Be brave, my Ororo!_

_- _Why did it sound like she was saying goodbye?

_Be strong for Mother, Ororo!_

- Was she leaving her to the shadows and the _dark_ and the _small_ all over again...?

"_Ororo!_"

_~x~_

She woke with a jerk and gasp, sitting up in bed, trying to catch her breath by taking in large gulps of air. Her heart was pounding, and she looked around wildly. For a moment, she didn't recognize the large, spacious room she woke in. All she saw was shadow, and it seemed to converge in on her, threatening to engulf her in darkness...

"Ororo. Hey, come on. It's okay, Ororo. It was just a dream."

Slowly she became aware of the large hand rubbing soothing circles into her back.

"That's it, come on darlin'. Deep breaths."

She turned and met concerned, slate grey eyes.

"Logan...?"

He smiled crookedly.

"Mornin', darlin'. Bad dream?"

_~x~_

As it turns out, it wasn't quite morning, if the dark skies Ororo could see outside the windows were any indication. The clock in the kitchen told her it was half past three.

She wasn't sure how he managed to get her there, but the now-familiar sight of the kitchen was comforting, she realized. When she had a moment to get her bearings, she attempted to fix herself a cup of tea. What she got for her efforts was a glare that clearly said 'are you fucking serious', and suddenly she was sitting down at the table while he fixed the tea for her.

A few minutes later, he set the pot and a steaming cup before her, and sat across the table, beer in hand. Her gaze was a million miles away.

"Hey, you all right?"

There was no response for a few seconds; long enough for him to frown in concern. Just as he was about to ask again, she blinked and re-focused on him.

"I'm sorry, Logan. I didn't mean to ignore you just now; Charles was just checking in."

_Figures_. He scowled. "I hate when he does that. Feels weird, having voices in your head."

She picked up the cup of tea, letting it warm her cool palms. "It... takes some getting used to, yes."

The look in her eyes was one he found startlingly familiar. It was one he saw rather regularly himself. He saw it every morning, in the mirror.

For a second, he's angry - downright enraged. The tortured look that spoke of demons that one couldn't escape... It didn't belong on someone like Ororo.

The silence stretched between them. It wasn't too awkward - he knew she was collecting her thoughts, he was doing the same. But what was he supposed to say?

He didn't find out, because she made the decision for him.

"Thank you, Logan," He blinked, and she clarified, "For all this. Waking me, fixing the tea... You didn't have to."

He shrugged. "Don't mention it, 'Ro. I wanted to do it."

He held up a hand when she began to protest. "Really, darlin'. It's no big deal. From one friend to another, it was no problem."

She managed a weak, grateful smile.

The silence fell between them again, and she sipped at her tea while he nursed his beer. He felt like there was something he needed to say, but didn't know the words to say them with.

_Keep it simple._

Logan stifled the growl that threatened to rumble from his chest. _Get outta my head, Chuck_!

"Look," he began quietly, contemplating his beer when he should've been contemplating her eyes. "I don't know what happened that's got you having nightmares this bad, this often. But - take it from someone who's been dealing with this kinda shit for as long as I can remember," which isn't all that long, he added to himself bitterly. "When you find someone who's willing to talk and listen to you about that burden..."

At this point, he's raised his eyes to her. She isn't looking back - no, her gaze is trained somewhere out the pitchblack of the window... But there's a somewhat smile there, when she does turn to look at him. "... It is eased when shared with a friend."

He finds himself sort of-kind of smiling back.

There was a brief pause while he figured out what to say next.

"Look, how about this. Every time you get a nightmare like this, you come and get me, okay?" She opened her mouth to protest, but he headed her off. "An' I'll do the same. We can meet here or something, you with your tea and me with my beer."

"And what will that accomplish?" She asked. Her voice was more curious than accusatory.

He shrugged. "Can't say it'll chase away the terrors, and sure as hell won't erase what happened in the past, but that's not the point, is it?"

"... No, I suppose not."

It was about sharing the burden.

She smiled, soft and gentle and one wouldn't have guessed that she was the same woman who woke trembling from a nightmare not half an hour ago.

They shook on it.

* * *

><p><em>Because who was the first person to rush to her side in African Storm, when she woke from a nightmare? <em>

_Also paying homage to the episode Ghost of a Chance, which features Ororo, Logan (and Charles) reeling from Dani's nightmares. If you missed it, there's a part where Ororo is visibly shaken by the experience; Logan calms her down by steadying her trembling hands. _


	8. something greater

"A black-tie event, Charles? I don't know..."

"The invitation came with two tickets, Ororo. I won't force you to come with me," He paused. "Though I suppose I can always ask Logan to accompany me..."

A laugh was halfway out of her lips when a growling voice came from the door. "Dream on, Chuck. Ain't no way I'm attending any of those highbrow parties of yours." Logan walked in and tossed a manila folder onto the Professor's desk. _Updates on the Danger Room construction_.

The professor turned eyes twinkling with mischief to Ororo, and she had to hide an amused smile.

"Think on it, my dear. It's only a dinner, after all," He steepled his fingers. "It's not important if I go with an escort, or not. I had only thought that it would be a waste of the extra ticket if I went alone."

That was true. She sighed, and nodded. "... All right. I'll go," She smiled. "I am beginning to think that I cannot refuse you anything, Charles."

"That is no fault of mine," he quipped, smiling back. "But thank you, Ororo. You will fit right in, I promise."

She laughed. "It's a private dinner, Charles. I will stick out like a sore thumb and you know it."

Logan, who had settled himself on the doorjamb, grinned at her. "Only 'cause you'll be turning heads left and right, darlin'. Those white collar stiffs won't know what hit 'em."

-x-

The night of the dinner arrived. Logan stood at the foot of the stairs with the Professor waiting next to him. He'd be chaffeuring them to the event tonight, find a bar to kill time at and then return for them once Charles contacted him on the comm link.

He and the Prof were discussing the best route to take to the venue when the telepath's eyes suddenly shifted to the top of the stairs.

"Ah, Ororo, you look wonderful." He was smiling and his eyes shone bright with fondness.

As for Logan, he couldn't quite form coherent thoughts. _Damn_, was as far he could get.

She was dressed in a dress of a beautiful deep blue that Logan would swear was the same shade as her eyes.

One shoulder was bare, the other had some shimmering, sheer material rippling over it like beads of water. The hem brushed her ankles, showing off a pair of slim, strappy black stiletto heels that clicked on every step she took towards them.

Damn.

She glanced at him, smiling in amusement. ... Crap, he said that out loud, didn't he?

_Yes, yes you did, Logan._

He glared daggers at the wheelchair-bound man beside him. _Shut up, Chuck_. To Ororo, he offered a grin. "You're gonna knock 'em dead, darlin'."

"Indeed," Charles chimed in. "I'm beginning to wonder if this was a good idea. I'm afraid I'll have to beat your suitors off with a stick, Ororo." In lieu of offering her an arm to take (he rarely lamented being confined to his chair; this was one such time,) he took one of her hands and squeezed it gently.

-x-

She was right, he mused. In the room full of distinguished gentlemen and some ladies, Ororo stood out. Not only was she beautiful, tall and graceful, she was black. She was not the only black in the room - there were other people of color around. But none of them women. And even then, they were few and far between. Part of him almost regretted bringing her along once he caught a few stray thoughts about her gender and/or the color of her skin. A faint, simmering burst of protective anger emerged from somewhere in his heart. How could he expose her to this?

Still, she mingles a little, but never strays too far from Charles' line of sight. He hears snatches of conversation now and then, and is oddly proud of her answers. True, she wasn't an expert on all the topics she was spoken to about, but she seemed to have a diplomat's tongue, easily dancing around conversations and deflecting difficult questions. She appeared to have a head for politics, despite her earlier claims of despising it.

At one point, a colleague curiously asked after his beautiful escort for the night. The subtly suggestive tone of his voice prompted Charles to give the gentleman smile that toes the line between amused and warning.

"I am nearly old enough to be her _father_, Mr. Pierce."

The questions come rapidfire once a few other men hear that he was answering questions about the mysterious woman that came with him tonight. Charles responds to the best of his ability, a glass of Cognac keeping him calm. _Yes, she is a good friend of mine... finished sociocultural anthropology in so and so university... Is she single? I think you are better off asking her yourself, hmm? _

Once most of the curious gentlemen have wandered off (he rather hopes they do not end up crowding Ororo, next) Charles found himself curiously watching her from a distance. He liked to think they'd become good friends in the months that they'd known each other, but this was the first time he had the opportunity to observe her in a social setting like this.

Excusing himself from more conversation, he wheels over to the nearest table of drinks to set down his glass. He was deep in thought; Ororo was a beautiful, intelligent young woman. Not for the first time, he wondered if he had any right in asking her to join his cause. Here she was, helping him put a stop to Magneto's plans, setting up a school to help young teenagers with strange powers... when most women her age would be pursuing the career of their choice, if not dating or looking to start a family.

She wasn't exempt from that, he knew. He could sense that someday, "Goddess willing", she too would have a family that she could nurture and care for.

But more than that, he'd recognized something in her that set her apart from most women. It was something that he had seen in Logan as well. A call that they both responded to, a call to fight for something greater than themselves.

Yes, serendipity had brought them both into his life, but he had come to realize that these two were a irreplaceable as far as X-Men go.

Across the room, he saw Ororo gently turn down a young man's request to see her elsewhere in private with an apologetic smile.

Vaguely, he wondered: What other dreams must she have given up or set aside, in exchange for his own to be realized?

* * *

><p><em>I keep saying that the characters are writing themselves into this fic. It's true. I didn't even plan for for this to take Charles' POV towards the end there, but I'm glad it ended up that way. He was being neglected, and I don't want this to seem like a StormWolverine show (because it isn't...! really!)_


	9. lessons learned

_Fair warning for Logan's potty mouth. He runs into Sabretooth in this one, okay?_

* * *

><p>The mission that they discover Magneto has recruited one Victor Creed to his cause was not a happy one. He found himself having to fly the Blackbird back to the mansion on his own, with Ororo knocked out from exhaustion in her seat. With the addition of Sabretooth, their attention had been divided, so to speak.<p>

He remembered his attention sharpening and focusing on the other feral mutant in an almost red haze. Storm had been left to deal with Mystique herself.

The fight hadn't been easy - it ended in a stalemate, with Sabretooth being called back by Magneto when the shapeshifter had finally fallen ("_This ain't over, runt!_"), and Logan having to help a Storm who could barely walk on her own into the jet. It worried him a little, how hurt she was; normally she'd be too proud for such a thing.

As soon as they were inside, he called Charles and put him on speaker.

"Bad news, Chuck," he said by way of greeting as he carefully set a blissfully sleeping Ororo into the adjacent seat. They really needed to get a gurney in here or something. "Magneto's been out recruiting. He's got fucking Sabretooth with him."

"Sabretooth?" came Charles' voice over the speaker. "I'm afraid I'm not familiar with-"

He hissed as the seatbelt snapped on a slow-healing gash on the outside of his arm. "He's a fucking son of a bitch, that's what he is. Nearly ambushed me an' Ro while we were taking on Mystique. Had to split up the fight."

Charles sounded like he was trying to keep the alarm from showing in his voice. "Are you both all right?"

"Alive," Logan grumbled, which he found belatedly was the wrong thing to say as Charles immediately asked after them again, sharply. "We're good, Charles. 'Ro's hurt, though. Took a bad fall, broke a wrist, and I think she might've broken a rib or two, too. Hopefully it's just a bad bruising."

He didn't mention himself; he was already healing, anyway.

Charles was still asking after them, concern evident in his voice. He'd sent them both on missions to stop whatever plan against humanity Magneto had Mystique help him with before, but this was the first time she'd (_they'd_) been hurt like this.

Well, at least they'd be able to break in the new infirmary Charles had just set up.

"Indeed, though I rather hoped that this wouldn't have to be the way we would use it," sighed Charles. Logan was too wired from the fight and from seeing Creed again to care about Charles reading his thoughts so casually.

"... I will contact a friend of mine, to have him take a closer look at Ororo's injuries," the Professor continued. "I'm sure Dr. McCoy will be willing to look you over as well, Logan -"

"Nah. I'm good, Chuck. Healing factor, y'know." He set the coordinates for home (Home. It still felt strange to call any place home), and finally got the jet in the air. "We'll be back in a bit, give ya a proper briefing then." He said, putting the plane on autopilot as Charles agreed and signed off.

He spent a few moments ensuring they were headed in the right direction before standing to check on his injured partner.

She stirred faintly and opened her eyes a fraction.

"... Logan?"

He spoke up, gruffly but softly. "How you feelin', darlin'?"

She groaned as she attempted to stretch. It hurt, Logan could see, so he put a hand on her shoulder to still her. "Like a herd of gazelles trampled all over me. Several times."

"Heh. Neat metaphor."

"It is a simile, Logan," She corrected immediately, smiling tiredly. "And you? Are you all right?"

"Healing factor, 'Ro," Well okay, he still had a couple'a wounds that hadn't closed up yet - Creed really was a son of a bitch in battle - but she didn't need to know that. He shifted subtly so the worst of it was away from her view. "She must've hit you hard if you forgot."

She nodded distantly, frowning deeply as she recalled the fight. Usually, Mystique couldn't come close to touching her, given her command of the elements. A gust of wind or a strike of lightning was enough to keep her at bay. But today's fight had happened indoors, where cyclones and lightning would be a recipe for disaster for everyone involved. Close-quarters combat had been a must. And with Logan's attention so occupied by that beastly mutant...

It wasn't that she didn't know how to fight. Growing up on the streets, learning how to defend oneself was a necessity that she and her sister had to learn the hard way. But it wasn't long before she'd found herself worshiped by the tribes that speckled the Serengeti, and it was beneath even an adolescent goddess to engage in fisticuffs. Mystique likely had years of combat experience behind her. Ororo only had a few memories of street fights from her childhood.

"Ya got her back good, though," Logan said, interrupting her brief introspection. "Remind me never to piss ya off. You were charged like a livewire when you hit her - how many volts was in that last punch anyway?"

She smiled ruefully. "Not enough to kill her," she reassured him. "But she will be feeling it for a while when she wakes up in a few days."

His smirk is oddly proud. "Atta girl," He patted her shoulder. "You get some rest, darlin'. I called ahead - Chuck's called in a favor from an old friend of his, some Dr. McCoy. He can take a look atcha when we get back."

For a while, it seemed like she had something else to say. But she just nodded. "All right. Thank you, Logan."

She managed one last smile before leaning back to fall into blessed unconsciousness.

-x-

Some hours later, Storm was making her way through the sublevels against Dr. Henry McCoy's strict orders of bedrest. She knew he meant well, but she hadn't seen Logan since he helped her into the infirmary when they landed.

She had a pressing issue she needed to speak to him about, and she thought it best if she were to find him before he escaped on one of his week-long motorcycle rides. She had a feeling he might be in the mood for one soon, if his attitude after fighting the mutant called Sabretooth was any indication.

She didn't have to search too long; she found him in the small training room they had close to the infirmary , working the punching bag like a pro.

"If I didn't know any better, I'd think you were imagining someone's face in that bag, Wolverine."

He didn't even look up.

"Creed's." He said shortly, before delivering a particularly brutal right hook that sent the bag swinging in a neat arc on its chain. Even she had to wince at that.

Except for the thumps of his precise, powerful punches, the room was silent a few moments more. After a deadly combination of blows resulted in a nasty looking split in the bag, he stopped to catch his breath.

"So? What's the damage?" He cocked his head at the sling her arm was in, and the bandages visible through the loose, comfortable shirt she was wearing. He considered asking if she should even be up and around at all, but thought better of it. Her eyes were gleaming with an unspoken determination; he wouldn't be able to send her back to bed at all, he knew. Not til she said what she had to say.

"Some bruising to the ribs, but that is the worst of it." He scowled at her answer. "Nothing a few weeks of bed rest won't take care of, or so the kind Dr. McCoy says. I will be all right."

That seemed to be enough for him, so he nodded curtly and turned back to the bag. But before he could throw his next punch, she spoke again. "Logan..."

"Yeah?"

She sighed. There was no easy way to do this without her pride being stung a little. But after conferring with Charles earlier during her report, they both agreed that it had to be done. Or, it was at least worth asking. "I was thinking, Logan, about today."

He turned, and she saw she had his full attention now. She straightened her stance, even if it was killing her side. He arched an eyebrow at that, and she knew he could tell that she was in pain... but after what she was going to ask him, she had to retain some dignity!

"I was wondering if you might be interested. In training me."

To his credit, he didn't even blink. Instead, he tilted his head, telling her silently to go on.

She cleared her throat. "You saw how Mystique nearly beat me today, Logan. The last blow I dealt her was a lucky shot, you and I know that. And I cannot always fall back on my powers..." It hadn't been so huge a problem, before. It used to be that she was all they had to deal with, and Storm and Wolverine made for a very effective team against her. But with the addition of Sabretooth, the playing field was leveled a little bit. And Storm knew that they would eventually have to face them in such a situation again.

"So you want me to teach you some hand-to-hand combat." He was keeping a perfect poker face, much to Ororo's frustration.

"Yes. Yes, I do."

The grin on his face catches her completely off-guard. "Huh. You know what they say about great minds, darlin'."

Blink. "Come again?"

"Been planning to ask ya the same thing." He picked up the towel he left on a nearby rack. "Just didn't know how to go about askin' you without hurting your feelings," He teased lightly as he draped the towel around his shoulders. It was true, though. You just never knew where to step with women, sometimes.

Ororo rolled her eyes. "Well, you should know that I expect you to be upfront with me at all times, Logan. There's certainly no use in worrying about something as silly as that."

"And that's why I like ya, 'Ro." He headed for the door, grinning. "C'mon. Let's go see this McCoy guy, maybe he can tell us when you'll be ready to start getting your ass handed to you on the gym mat."

* * *

><p><em>And this is my explanation for howwhy Storm would eventually beat Mystique in the Season 1 finale. __Note that this means Storm was Logan's first student in combat training...! Not without basis, either, as she did receive combat training from him in 616, too._


	10. I'm a teacher, not a

_This chapter is dedicated to loyal reader/reviewers ~Stormysongbird and ~shejams! And also to ~ScruffyLoving, whose review kicked my butt into gear so I'd update this. _

* * *

><p>Henry Phillip McCoy was tall and exceedingly well-built, with large, muscled limbs of an athlete and seemingly oversized hands and feet. He moved with surprising grace for a man his size, and folded into a large plush armchair with the comfortable familiarity of one used to sitting in large plush armchairs whilst balancing delicate Victorian cups of tea. It was almost hard to believe that this was the same, bumbling teenager Charles met over a decade ago.<p>

"It's so good to see you, my friend," he was saying, "I know you've been a busy man. I hate to take you away from your work on such short notice..."

"Now Professor, don't mention it. After all, I do not think I could in good conscience refuse to come to the aid of a woman as lovely as your Ororo." Hank grinned charmingly, before continuing on a more serious note: "But I do mean it when I say that there is much I owe you, Professor. I am only exceedingly happy to do small favors for you."

"Is that so?" Charles asked, eyes twinkling. "Can I take that to mean that you have reconsidered my offer then?"

Hank chuckled. "I have. But truth be told, I am rather happy with teaching at the university." His smile turned warm, and fond. "After earning_ a thousand and one degrees,_ as my colleagues continue to put it, I thought it might be best to impart what knowledge I've gathered to those who wish to learn."

"And it's very noble of you, Hank." Charles tipped his cup of tea towards him in a sort of toast. "But you know, I do plan on eventually converting the mansion into a school..."

"So you've said." Hank leaned foward, interested. "An institute for young mutants to learn control over their powers. It's a fantastic idea if I must say so, Professor. Heaven knows I would have been lost without your guidance, all those years ago."

"I have high hopes for it," Charles agreed. "And I would love for you to teach here as well. In any capacity."

"We'll have to see. It's certainly a fair bit more appealing than playing superhero..." Hank grinned. "Though of course, the latter has its own appeal, I won't deny."

Charles chuckled with him. "Well, as I've mentioned, you would be welcome to join our fledgling team any time you wish, Hank."

"And as I've mentioned, it is a worthy cause, Professor. Perhaps some day. But not now."

"No? That is a true shame."

The two men looked up and saw Ororo coming into the study, her posture flawless despite the sling her arm was in. Behind her stood Logan, arms crossed and leaning on the doorjamb. His eyes trailed after her, though Hank detected no malice or ill-intent in his gaze. Rather, it seemed like he was waiting for her to fall over or faint, and was poised to assist her if she fell.

Ororo just continued speaking, smiling in Hank's direction. "You've proven to be quite helpful. I know I would not mind having you with us, Dr. McCoy."

Hank rose to meet her, setting his teacup down on the table between him and Charles. "Miss Munroe. I believe I mentioned bedrest when we last parted ways?"

Behind her, Logan snorted. "Yeah, if I can't persuade her to bed, I ain't rightly sure you can, Big Guy." He paused, as if just registering what he said. Then he shrugged it off.

Ororo flushed prettily, though she went on as if Logan hadn't said anything at all. To Hank, she gave a reassuring smile. "Thank you for your concern. I'm on my way to bed right now, actually. But I couldn't quite help but overhear part of your conversation...?" She glanced at the Professor curiously, then back to Hank.

"Ahh, yes. The Professor here was just trying to convince me to make my stay here a little more permanent." Hank chuckled. "He's making it hard to refuse."

"So why refuse at all, eh?" Logan finally stepped inside.

"Well, I am quite busy at the university..." Hank began, looking to the Professor for support. Logan was much shorter than he was, but he seemed to possess a natural tendency to intimidate.

"... Henry here happens to be a full-time teacher, on top of being a capable physician." Charles informed his two X-Men. "But he is also currently earning a degree in quantum mechanics, among other things. He's been an instrumental force in the construction of our sublevel facilities, you see. We have much to thank him for."

Hank smiled broadly. "Think nothing of it. It is always a pleasure to work with you, Professor, especially with such new and exciting ideas."

"Even with as busy a schedule as yours?" Ororo asked, impressed.

"It's really not a problem." Hank blushed under their apparent praise. "It is still a schedule far too busy for me to join your team more reliably, after all. Think of this as my contribution to the cause, for now."

"Fer now?" Logan asked skeptically.

"For now." Hank smiled. "In the meantime, I will still be making semi-regular visits to help oversee Professor Xavier's current projects. For example, the Professor and I were discussing how we might find a way to power his Cerebro unit without having to rely on your powers, Ms. Munroe."

"Oh," Ororo looked startled. She hadn't known that was an issue. "Is that possible? You know that I do not mind doing it, Professor."

"I know, my dear. But this way will be more convenient for all of us, and far less taxing on yourself." Charles reached out to clasp her free, uninjured hand fondly. "And with all the additions to the basement levels, it would probably be in our best interests to construct a separate generator anyway."

"We thought we might use the waterfall located right behind the Professor's land as a potential power source..." Hank added thoughtfully. And then he grinned. "So as you can see, you will be seeing quite a bit of me in the coming months. After all, that holodeck of yours is not going to build itself..."

Charles frowned.

"... Actually, Henry, Logan and I were partial to the name, Danger Room. But I suppose you could call it a-"

Logan rolled his eyes, though he couldn't quite keep the grin off his face. "Don't kid yerself, Chuck. It's totally a glorified holodeck."

Meanwhile, Ororo could only blink in confusion.

"What is... a holodeck?"

* * *

><p><em>The year is 2000 (or somewhere thereabouts,) so the phrase "let me google that for you!" isn't something Hank can tell Ororo yet. Oh, well! <em>


	11. everyone but logan is an adult

At some point during Hank's increasingly frequent visits to the mansion, it occurred to Logan that he seemed to be wooing Ororo.

Logan wasn't sure how that made him feel, and he didn't like what he thought he felt about it, so he didn't acknowledge it. After all, Hank was the one who took care of the injuries she'd sustained from that fight a few months back. And he was the one working with that sweet new tech that was bringing the Danger Room to life (when he finished, Logan foresaw some very interesting days ahead.) So he was at the mansion often, and being that sometimes Logan wasn't around for days at a time, he suspected he was there more often than he realized.

Really, it should not have been a surprise to him when, over breakfast, Ororo mentioned to him and Charles that Hank would be taking her downtown later that day.

"He taking you out on a date?" Logan looked at her in surprise. As far as he knew, Ororo herself wasn't even aware that Hank was a little sweet on her. (Something that amused him, kind of, though he really didn't want to think about why it did.)

Ororo looked at him in surprise right back.

"A date? No, of course not." She paused, frowning thoughtfully. "At least, I do not think he is. I simply mentioned that I needed to do some shopping. As he was heading back that way after dropping by here today, he offered to take me."

Logan eyed her suspiciously. "So he's just dropping you off there?"

Ororo turned her frown to Logan, wondering where this was all coming from. "... Well, I thought we might have some coffee before we parted ways. To thank him, for taking me."

"So _you_ asked Specs on a date?"

"Logan..." She sighed. She didn't really like Logan's sometimes-nickname for Hank.

Charles looked from one to the other like he was following a tennis match. He smiled in private amusement as Ororo wondered aloud, exasperated, what he himself was wondering: why Logan seemed so invested in that particular non-detail.

(Charles had his own suspicions, of course, but he didn't want to preempt something that could unfold naturally.)

-x-

Ororo said it wasn't a date, but after Logan had put the idea in her mind, it was starting to feel like it. She was a little surprised to realize that even if it was, she did not really mind. She'd been honest when she said that he only offered her a ride into town. But somehow it had turned into an afternoon outing, with Ororo inviting him to coffee after she picked up some new additions to her wardrobe. (She'd realized a few weeks ago that if Charles expected her to help teach some young ones at the mansion, she had to stop dressing like a college student.)

She peered over her cup of coffee to consider her friend and companion for the day. Hank was handsome, she decided. He was tall, had a wonderful smile and intelligent eyes. He moved with surprising grace, considering his size, and was always treating her with care and consideration. Sometimes a little too much, she reflected, but it was probably leftover from how he first met her (that is, in the medlab, treating her for her broken ribs.) All in all, he was a good man. Very sweet and doting and sincere, and he had such a way with words...

But sometimes he had a tendency to fumble his words when speaking to her, she noticed. He was normally so eloquent (one of her favorite things about him was his unique appreciation for the English language), that the way he stumbled over sentences every now and then came across as rather charming.

He simply shrugged when she teased him gently about it, over their coffee, biscuits and a discussion on C.S. Lewis.

"Not even poetry would do you justice, my dear."

… But, he was a master of his words when it truly counted, she thought, smiling modestly as her cheeks traitorously heated up.

-x-

"So what, are you his girl now?" Logan asked her, later that night as he helped her bring her day's shopping back up to her room. "Am I gonna have to give him some kinda big brother talk next time he shows up?"

Ororo gave Logan an amused look. "... Big brother talk?" Logan was many things, but big brother was not one of them. At least, not to Ororo.

But Logan just waved his hand vaguely, scowling. "Y'know, so he knows not to mess with you."

"I think I can handle him myself if he ever thought to 'mess with me,' as you so eloquently put it."

Logan rolled his eyes. _Well excuse me for not being as well-spoken as the Big Guy_...

"... But no, I am not 'his girl,' Logan," she continued as she opened the door to her room, urging him inside. "Though it did come up over coffee earlier, it's not something either of us are really looking for right now."

"Yeah?" He once again gave her a look of surprise, setting her bags down by her bed as she headed over to her closet. Had he read Hank wrong after all?

"Yes," Ororo smiled patiently, opening the doors to her closet and beginning to sort through her clothes. The new ones went in, and old ones went out. Her sister's in-laws sometimes volunteered at the Salvation Army, and she could probably drop these off later this week. "... We thought about it, but really - neither of us have the time to dedicate to something like that right now. And that would hardly be fair to either of us."

Logan scowled, not even noticing that he was helping to fold up her clothes for her. "... So you _were_ interested. Both of you."

So Hank had a little crush on her, and apparently it was mutual. Sort of? He didn't get it, the idea of it or why it unsettled him.

"Perhaps." Ororo shrugged. A date was a date, it was not (yet) an invitation to be in a serious relationship, as far as she was concerned. But she glanced at Logan through the corner of her eye, noting his scowl with a curious sort of smile. "... You seemed rather interested in us too, this morning. Is there something I should know, Wolverine...?" She teased, smiling gently.

"_No._" His scowl deepened as he shoved one of her new skirts onto a hanger a little too viciously. He checked himself as he hung it up, only to frown at the heavy leather jacket hanging on her closet door. He pointed it out to Ororo with a bit of an accusing expression.

"You were lookin' at Specs with an ex's old jacket still hangin' in your closet, 'Roro?"

Ororo looked up from where she was packing away some clothes, and smiled brightly at the sight of her old leather. He was probably mistaken, but she didn't feel like giving him the satisfaction of an answer... She shot him a sly smile over her shoulder.

"Wouldn't you like to know?"

* * *

><p><em>notes;<br>` The jacket did belong to an ex. (Her name was Yukio, but Logan doesn't find out until "Pillow Talk", which y'all should read.)  
>` I needed a nickname for Hank, from Logan. Since he isn't blue and furry here yet, I couldn't use Furball or Big Blue. Specs was my next best alternative. Vaguely offensive, kinda archaic (idk anyone who still uses that term) - I thought it fit.<br>` I'm kind of proud of my chapter name! (Logan has a lot of maturing to do, EQ-wise. hahaaaa.) _


	12. interlude: armistice

_a change of scenery, this chapter._

* * *

><p>Once a month, a chauffeur service would pick Charles up from the mansion and he would disappear for the rest of the day. It was rare enough that Logan didn't really notice (not when he was gone for days at a time, sometimes.) And as Charles remained passively but not cryptically vague on details, Ororo had never asked after him. But he would always come home a little more subdued and quiet afterwards: tired, and introspective.<p>

He was glad that both of his new friends recognized and respected a need to keep certain things close to the vest. If either of them found out where his short trips took him, and who he sometimes met up with there, he was not entirely sure how to field their inevitable questions.

"Alone, Charles?" Erik had asked once, soon after Logan and Ororo had taken up permanent residence at the mansion. He had run into them both not a few weeks before, and still sported bandages peeking out from under the collar of his shirt from the encounter. "I am surprised you haven't brought your Wolverine along with you. I'd have thought that he made for an excellent guard dog."

"I will ask him to accompany me should I ever find myself in need of one." Charles said, as an intern rushed forward to assist him in getting out of the car. "For matters like this, I do not think it necessary."

Erik smiled slightly, not surprised by his answer. "You were always unfailingly trusting of others, Charles. One day, that will be your downfall."

"So you always say. Perhaps it will be my salvation." He replied without missing a beat, even as two security guards at the entrance to the building stood alert. A third stepped forward, as always, to offer to push Charles' chair for him. He declined with a smile and a wave of his hand, rolling his chair up the access ramp with ease and long practice.

"But come, Magnus, we do not come here to discuss ethics. Have you been inside to see her yet? How is she faring?"

The slight smile on Erik's face dimmed. Now that they were inside and alone in a long, lonely hallway, his expression betrayed that of the man Charles had known from long ago. Vulnerability was not something Erik Magnus Lensherr let others see on his face very much, anymore. And even when he did, it was only in the company of those he deemed himself closest to, and only for a heartbeat. There one second, and gone the next.

"... Unwell," he answered at length, closing himself to the emotion as he built up his walls of iron around his heart. The grip on the metal top of his walking cane tightened, as did the lines around his lips. "She complains of too many paths, too many choices..."

Charles sighed, frowning. "Still with the migraines?"

"More, if her records can be trusted. She has a new nurse assigned to her every week, it seems." Erik huffed, ire in his voice apparent. "Most are unsettled by her... episodes. A few witnessed her outbursts and needed to be... replaced."

Charles did not bother to ask Erik to clarify what that entailed. He had a troubling view of those he called flatscans, but he never caused trouble here. Not when he needed their specific services so badly.

They came to a door at the end of the hall. An elderly female nurse was waiting for them. She gave them both a warm smile. To Charles she gave a familiar greeting as he wheeled himself to the door.

Erik stood back by the opposite wall: a silent, watchful sentry. He and Charles disagreed on many things, now. But for this, he trusted no other.

"She's ready for you, Professor Xavier," The nurse said, opening the door for him. "Please be careful, she's quickly agitated..."

Charles nodded. "I will, thank you."

He wheeled himself in and heard the door shut behind him with a soft click.

In the corner, huddled under the blankets of her bed was a bundle of pajamas, her shock of black hair a startling contrast in the white and gray of the room.

"_Hello, Wanda. It's good to see you._"


	13. taking advantage

_(a follow-up to chapter nine, and probably the most cliche thing I've written for this fic._)

* * *

><p>"You lied," she proclaimed, one day. She was lying on the mat in the gym; Logan had just knocked her down after a heated sparring session. Her chest was heaving with pants - but because she was lying down and Logan was standing up a few feet away, he could openly ogle her without her knowing-<p>

"Are men all the same? Stop staring!" She demanded not a second after the thought crossed his mind. Somehow she knew exactly what he was doing without even having to look. He grinned, because he could hear the laughter in her voice. Scared him a little, that she knew him that well by now. (Or maybe, she knew men like him were like that. And for some reason, that thought bothered him a little.

He didn't like how that felt, so he brushed it off.)

"Can't help it, 'Ro," he drawled instead as he stepped closer, bending to offer her a hand to help her to her feet. She waved his hand away and got up by herself. "Y'look good enough to eat."

"Do not lie," She said again, smoothing down the creases of her simple white tank top. "I am a mess."

And she was - her hair had been tied up into a high ponytail earlier, but it was loose now after two hours of strenuous physical exertion. Of course, had it been his choice, he would've tried to talk her into another kind of strenuous physical activity...

He heard a loud clearing of a throat echo through his mind. Logan rolled his eyes and glared in the general direction of the ceiling - Charles was a few floors up in his study. _What was that about mindreading ethics, Chuck?_

_You were projecting, Logan. Rather loudly, at that._ Came his amused mental reply. _Be thankful Ororo is not a telepath, or else she would have struck you down where you stood, by now. _

_Yeah, yeah_. He groused. But seriously, who could blame him for looking? Even "messed up", Ororo was a sight for sore eyes. Sweat made her skin glow beneath the gym's bright lights, and her hair was an artfully beautiful tousled mess. She didn't even have to try.

Ororo set her hands on her hips. "Are you quite finished, Wolverine?" She asked, voice sharp.

Plus her hell of an attitude made her cheeks flush, and her eyes brighten with ire. It was attractive as hell - but baiting her was like walking a tightrope, he'd discovered. Go too far and those beautiful ocean blue eyes of hers would spark with electricity - and he really didn't want to test and see if he could conduct lightning.

He smirked when she began to tap her foot impatiently. "Just about, yep. Ready to go again?" She shifted into an offensive stance in reply, prompting him to do the same. He had to smile at the determination in her eyes.

"So," he said as they circled each other slowly, "What was that about me bein' a liar, darlin'?" At the last word he lunged, throwing a one-two punch her way. She dodged them both, moving like a snake, before throwing answering punches of her own.

"You are," she said, nearly grunting with the effort. She jumped back as his foot shot out to kick her in the side. He was trying not to hit her previously-injured ribs, but he was also trying not to make it obvious he was pulling his punches for her. "... You said you were not much of a teacher."

His brows went up at that. He was expecting some wisecrack about his open ogling of her... Which he shamelessly did now that she was dressing in racer back tank tops and cycling shorts for their biweekly sparring sessions. He knew she wasn't showing off on purpose, but damn. He should really get her to invest in some yoga pants or something...

"... So?" He raised his arms to block as she came at him with a series of furiously quick jabs. She was getting tired, he could see. As fast as her punches were coming, it seemed like she wasn't really aiming for anything, anymore. He filed that thought away to bring up later, after they finished here.

"So, after several sessions with you, Wolverine, I think it is plain to see that you are a fine teacher."

He smirked at the way she raised an eyebrow at him archly. She thought he knew him, did she?

"S'that what you think, darlin'?" He dodged her last punch and sent another kick back. Her once-injured side was turned to him at that point, so he tried to keep himself from putting too much force into the hit.

_Big mistake_, was his last thought. His kick wasn't fast enough as she neatly pulled back with ease. And then her own leg swept out in a smooth arc, catching him in the back of his knees. He went down like a brick, painfully and heavily.

She stepped over to him, panting but with a proud little smirk on her face. "Yes, Logan. That is exactly what I think."

He grumbled.

_Lucky shot_, he wanted to say, but settled for a scowl. It'd be a shame if he wiped that attractive smirk off her face, so soon.

"... I am not above taking advantage of you if you keep going easy on me, Logan." She offered him a hand to help him up. He took it, heaving his formidable weight up carefully so he wouldn't end up pulling her down to the floor to join him, as tempting as that was.

He did use it as an excuse to stand in her bubble though. Despite the discrepancy in their height, and that Logan had to look _up_ at her, standing this close, he still managed to make her cheeks flush a shade darker.

"An' what if I _want _you to take advantage of me, darlin'?"

Charles' laughter echoed through his mind between inquiries after his health later, after she left him smoking on the gym floor.

_Worth it_, he thought, chuckling. She really had to stop setting herself up like that.


	14. wined and dined

_note: this chapter immediately follows the previous one. this chapter also sounded a lot better in my head when I was planning it than it does now that I've written it (I hope my thoughts come across fine haha) but I hope you enjoy!_

-x-

Much later, after they'd both showered, changed and had a light lunch with the Professor, Ororo announced that she would be outside if either of them needed her. The gardens were her domain now, and on her downtime she could often be found tending to the plants. She was napping outside on the grass or beneath the shade of the trees more than she slept in her own bed. It was weird, but a good kind. One he could relate to. Today, though, Logan knew she was just going to rest. She'd need it, after the work out he'd given her in the training room.

Charles merely nodded and let her be on her way. As she stepped out the door, he turned to face Logan.

"Logan, could I have a moment of your time?"

"Whatever it was, I didn't do it." He quipped, looking through the fridge for a bottle of beer. All he found was a can of orange soda. Who the hell drank orange soda around here? He didn't peg Ororo for a soda type...

Charles chuckled. "I have some Jack Daniels in my study, if you need a drink of that variety, my friend."

Logan leaned back from the fridge, one eyebrow up. "You bribing me with alcohol, Charles? Never thought I'd see the day."

"Just a little incentive. To tide you over, as it were, as I believe Ororo took the last bottle of your beer last night."

One bushy eyebrow went up in surprise. "_'Ro_ took it?"

"Yes, for the fish and chips we had for dinner. The recipe called for it." Charles smiled, amused at Logan's reaction. He gestured for Logan to follow him as he wheeled out of the kitchen. "... I was supposed to be sworn to secrecy, as she did say she would replace it as soon as possible. But I told her not to worry; you're rather quick at replacing your own stock yourself..."

"Yeah, I guess. But now she owes me a drink." Logan grinned, obviously pleased with this development.

-x-

Charles' study was found on the ground floor of the mansion. Because of his chair, it was a very spacious room, with plenty of space to bring the chair around the mahogany desk in the center of the study. Logan was used to keeping himself standing by the door when he and Ororo were in here, but this time, since 'Ro wasn't around to take the seat across Charles', he had to sit too.

To his credit, he didn't show how uncomfortable he was by fidgeting as he sat down. "What did you wanna talk about, then?"

Charles regarded him placidly, taking his time answering the question while he took a bottle of whiskey and two shot glasses from the mini fridge by the mini bar. "I wanted to talk about Ororo, in a manner of speaking."

"Shouldn't she be here?" Logan raised an eyebrow curiously. Anything Charles had to say about Storm, she had a right to hear. Or so he figured.

"As it happens, I've already spoken to her." Chalres smiled, pouring Logan a drink and handing it over. Logan took it thoughtfully, with a measure of suspicion. Charles wouldn't break out any of the good stuff without reason, which left him wondering where their discussion was going to go.

"Now, I know you did not sign up to teach anything, Wolverine," Charles continued, as he poured a drink for himself, "However I couldn't help but notice how well you were handling Ororo's request of training her in close quarters combat..."

Logan scowled as realization steadily dawned on him. "... You're wining and dining me."

Charles only smiled. "... And so I wondered if, perhaps, you might change your mind about helping whatever mutants that may join us when we officially open the Institute."

Logan frowned, not fooled by how he was carefully wording things. "How many times'm I gonna have to say it 'round here, Chuck? I'm _not_ a teacher."

"So you've said. But you are doing exceptionally well with Ororo, or so she tells me." Charles pointed out, unfazed. "Aside from the fact that you have a slight tendency to go easy on her, she has nothing but praise for you, Logan. And happens to think you'd do quite well with any future students we might have."

"'Ro's one thing," Logan pointed out. "She's an adult. An' I like her fine. Teenagers are somethin' else. Would you really put me with a room full of teenagers, Chuck?"

"Well, why not?" Charles took a measured sip of Jack. "As far as I am concerned, you've proven to me that you could handle it."

Logan glanced down at his drink, wondering if the Professor had finally lost it. He always kind of thought that Chuck wasn't completely _there_ all the time, considering, well, everything. Because putting a temperamental, borderline violent whack-job like himself in charge of any kid?

Charles curled his fingers around his glass as Logan's thoughts washed over him, whether the feral mutant was aware that he was projecting or not. That he was barely a man - more beast than man on some days - and putting all that responsibility on someone as dangerous as him was not only unexpected, but not even smart or thinkable, in his opinion. And now he was being asked to be a teacher?

_Ororo agrees with me,_ Charles gentled his mental voice as his thoughts reached out to Logan's mind. _We do believe in you. _

Logan shook his head wryly. Then he stood, tossing back the shot in one go before setting the glass down.

"I'll think about it," he relented, finally, before turning to march out the door. "But that ain't a promise, alright?"

"Alright. That's fair." Charles nodded, pleased with that answer. It was an improvement, at least, from the _Hell no_. that he'd gotten the first time he'd asked this of him. In all honesty, he didn't even think that answer could have ever changed - not until Ororo asked his advice on whether or not she should ask Logan for self defense and close quarters combat lessons. Not until he'd seen them at it down in the training room. All he needed was the right motivation, Charles thought then. It wasn't so much teaching in the same way that Hank McCoy loved to do - it was knowing that he was helping someone he cared about to learn how to help themselves. So it wasn't being just a teacher, really. It was something a bit more than that.

Charles smiled as he caught faint impressions of Logan's thoughts as the other man made his way to the garage. Ororo was still outside and Logan was contemplating cashing out the beer she now owed him by making her join him at a pub on the outskirts of Bayville, one that served excellent beer but had some unfortunately questionable patrons. He changed his mind quickly at the second thought, subconsciously evaluating her stance by how she was still favoring one side as she walked over to him to see him out. '_Roro ain't ready for a place like Harry's, not yet. Maybe inna couple weeks..._

Charles chuckled to himself. Whether Logan realized it or not, those instincts could make him an exceptional help to whatever students would come their way in the future. It was just a matter of helping him realize that he was not the feral beast that he seemed to think he was, and that those instincts made him more of a man than he thought himself to be.


End file.
